


Participant Observation

by The_WiP_Hand



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Angst, Anthropology, Blindfolds, Bondage, Chains, Collars, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Elves, Erotica, Fantasy, Flogging, Fluff and Angst, Gladiators, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies, Interspecies Relationship(s), Knifeplay, Leashes, M/M, Master/Slave, Nursing, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Prisoner of War, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Punishment, Racism, Rape, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Romance, Sensory Deprivation, Service Submission, Sexual Slavery, Slash, Slavery, Submission, Suffering, Suicidal Thoughts, Whipping, Yaoi, all of the angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-26 18:49:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3860728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_WiP_Hand/pseuds/The_WiP_Hand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, I had this dumb idea about a fantasy slavefic featuring an anthropologist elf and an embittered woobie of a war captive.</p><p>In the beginning, Kinam’s interest in Juna is largely scientific, with the elf taking advantage of his position of power over his slave to explore elements of human biology and psychology such as reflexes and pain tolerance. However, the researcher quickly finds that his quick-witted slave is just as valuable for his unique insights as he is for his body and might have a great deal more to teach him about humanity than he thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Articulate Item

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea I'm trying out in response to some of the other slavefic dynamics I've seen. Not beta-ed or even proofread really, so I apologize for any errors.
> 
> Not sure what I'm doing with this story exactly, so if you'd like to see it continued, please leave a comment letting me know what you think/ where you'd like to see it go from here. Thanks!

Ever since he can remember, Kinam has been fascinated by humans, the strange, wild creatures that lived beyond the reaches of his peoples’ highland kingdom. As a little elf, he used to watch the seafaring human merchants bartering from behind his mother’s skirts with wide his eyes, utterly mesmerized by the hue of their skin and their loose, lilting gait, his ears straining for snatches of their foreign accents.

Since that day, he had read every book his species ever produced on humans, listened to every lecture, dug up every study and memoir by those precious few elves who had ventured far across the sea to human country. Having exhausted his peoples’ meager writings and recordings on humans, Kinam spent a good deal of his adolescence teaching himself Draskan, the most common human language and to date the only one with a fully realized writing system, so that he could read the few human-produced books he managed to buy off of some of the more worldly merchants who made their way to the Takyut highlands.

Kinam has conversed with humans here and there, even become friends with one or two, but there has always been that distance between them… something he feels like he can’t bridge no matter how much he watches or studies. He is always standing apart from them, at a respectable distance, asking respectful questions unable to reach out and touch, unable to understand. After all these years he has still never reached out and touched human skin, never stood close enough to feel the warmth of their slightly higher body temperature, never quite understood what it is like to think from inside a human head.

Sometimes he thinks he’s found an answer, some solid theoretical framework that explains it all, but at some point, it always breaks down under a barrage of contradictions and exceptions and he is left grasping. There are so many things about humans he can’t begin to fathom, no matter how far he stretches his mind… their seeming thirst for violence and domination, their unbalanced gender dynamics, their ability to reduce other humans to objects… Part of him hopes this stay in human country will help him understand all of that; part of him is _afraid_ it will. That is why, it is such a shock when he reads to the end of the list of his new property.

 

_Real Estate:_

_1 city home                             valued at 2,000,300 ct_

_2 summer mansions                valued at 3,900,000 ct_

_1 plantation house                  valued at 1,600,000 ct_

_Dumb items:_

_2 carriages                             valued at 31,000 ct_

_3 channel boats                      valued at 35,200 ct_

_15 ploughs                              valued at 96,000 ct_

The ‘dumb items’ go on for pages, listing practically every bucket and garden hoe Turas owns. The next sub-section is considerably shorter.

_Semi-articulate items:_

_1 highlands mare                    valued at 50,000 ct_

_28 common horses                  valued at 1,008,000 ct_

_300 chickens                           valued at 29,000 ct_

_45 ducks                                  valued at 4,500 ct_

_39 goats                                  valued at 78,000 ct_

_45 sheep                                  valued at 90,000 ct_

_500 heads of cattle                 valued at 2,500,000 ct_

But it is two lines on the very last page that catch Kinam’s attention.

_Articulate items:_

_1 skilled slave (male)             valued at 12,000 ct_

 

“I’m-I’m sorry, sir.” He looks up at the human accountant. “It says here, under articulate items, that the estate Turas entrusted to me includes a _slave_?”

“Look, it’s not my business what’s on the list, only that the contract is honored. Lord Turas wrote that up himself; whatever he lists there, he meant to leave to you.”

“I see…”

Kinam has only just gotten used to the idea of owning a chicken. The idea of owning another person—a being of similar if not equal intelligence to himself—is too foreign to wrap his head around for the moment. Among the elves of Takyut, services and material goods—crafts, mostly—are given with the intention of establishing a mutually beneficial exchange relationship with another. The idea of exacting servitude from another living being—or worse, abusing them—without giving anything in return is… unthinkable. It’s _shameful_ , which is why Kinam directly asked Turas not to leave him with any slaves.

Kinam wants to honor and grow to understand human customs, but slavery is the one custom he the feels that—as an elf of good conscience—he can’t quite condone; it is so far out of reach of any rationalization or justification in his elven worldview. But who knows… maybe this will end up being helpful. Maybe participating in this particular practice will give him some basic understanding of humans he has been missing all this time. After all, he is supposed to be here to study human culture as it is, not to impose his elven standards of what it should be…

“Is there a problem, Master Elf?” The accountant says impatiently.

“N-no.” Kinam shakes his head. “No problem at all, sir.” He signs his name in Draskan script and hands the papers back to the human.

It has been a long day and as Kinam sits in the private boat back to his new estate, he finds himself in a sort of daze. For the better part of his life, he has only been able to dream of seeing even a small community of humans. Now, here he is, in the thick with _thousands_ of them, their glowing bronze skin and a dark curls of hair alive with movement as they steered their boats down the narrow channels, or bustled on the walkways along the water, babbling and haggling in every flavor of Draskan Kinam had ever studied and many he had not. There are women beating their laundry against the stones at the channel’s edge, old men frail with age sitting out on balconies, skinny-limbed children, smudged with dirt, chasing each other between the legs of the adults, shrieking with laughter… every shape and variety of human Kinam ever could have imagined. And it is too much.

All day, ever since that first boat bore him down the main channel into the outer reaches of the city, his eyes have been wide open, trying to take everything in at once, his ears straining to hear and process every snatch of conversation he has heard, all while his brain scrambles to rationalize it all. Five years seemed like a blessedly long time in which to conduct a study of human behavior back when Turas suggested it, but now, sitting back in the boat as the world around him bursts with color and movement he doesn’t understand, Kinam starts to think that a hundred years might not be enough time for him to grasp everything happening in this single city of humans. He will have to begin work as soon as he can, he thinks, even as his mind and body ache with the exhaustion of overstimulation.

Turas could have warned him… This is so much more than he was ever prepared for…

Despite having grown up with what his mother called an ‘unhealthy obsession’ with humans, it wasn’t until well after Kinam complete his wholly unsatisfying degree in humanoid studies from Takyat’s most prestigious university that he was actually able to sit down and have a conversation with one. It was halting, awkward, and more than a little frustrating, but Kinam was good enough at Draskan and the stranger charmed enough that he knew it at all that they formed the beginnings of a friendship that would last years into the future. That human, of course, was Turas.

It was through the human Turas that Kinam got this opportunity… to be the first elf admitted into the heart of the great human empire of Draska to study the most prolific and powerful of the species in their natural habitat. Although Kinam didn’t quite grasp it at the time of that first conversation, his new friend Turas belonged to a group of the most powerful and affluent humans in the world, the Draskan elite. The human was born into spectacular wealth in the Draskan capital and, after gaining a fortune in plunder during his first term of service as a general, decided that he would use his money to travel the world before being called back for his required second term in the military. Turas was an open, lively individual, as fascinated with elves and other peoples as Kinam was with humans.

This entire operation began when Turas received a message from Draska with heavy news: not his brother and last living family member, Turin, succumbed to plague and died, but Turas he had been called back for his second term as general. This left Turas with a serious problem: it was usually the case that when a Draskan man left for war, his next of kin would look after his property during those five years. But all Turas’ kin were dead and in the years he spent abroad, he had grown apart from his old friends and allies in the capital. The only real friend he had at the time was Kinam,

It was the perfect plan; Kinam would get the chance to conduct the insider research on humans that he had always wanted, and Turas could leave for the northern front knowing that his estate was in the hands of someone he genuinely trusted.

Turas’ city house is considerably bigger than any dwelling Kinam was ever afforded as a professor of humanoid studies back in Takyat, supported by graceful—if architecturally simple—arches and pillars, cut from the pale stone, that left most rooms open to the warm Draskan air. It will be strange to stay in such a large abode, alone except for the fraction of Turas’ guard that have stayed for security and the few servants who will come in during the day. It is nearly dusk when the boatman brings them up to the mansion’s entrance. When Kinam makes his way inside, he finds that most of his belongings have been moved to the appropriate rooms, his two chests of clothing and other necessities into the bedroom, and his many, many chests of equipment into Turas’ spacious study.

Kinam surveys the study with a deep sigh. Unpacking all of those chests is going to be a chore. He suspects the servants might have done it for him, but he keeps the keys to these chests on his person. It is distinctly un-elven to be so possessive and paranoid—or at least his mother always told him—but Kinam gets unbearably distressed at the thought of others—elven, human, or anything else—laying a finger his research equipment. It’s delicate, _important_ , and he doesn’t want anyone else handling it. This means, of course, that he will probably have to spend the better part of a day setting up before he is able to go out and begin his real research. Best to go get some sleep for the moment… maybe figure out how to take a bath in this strange house, Kinam decides, turning to leave the study. He can worry about setting everything up in the morning. Kinam turns the corner out of the office and nearly runs into another person coming down the hall in the opposite direction.

“Oh—” The human looks up at him in surprise and Kinam feels his breath catch in his chest.

He is staring into a wide pair of eyes unlike any he has ever seen. Gray… like storm clouds bright with the promise of lightning. All of the humans Kinam has ever met have skin ranging from deep brown to sunlike bronze, but this one’s skin is like parchment. Practically as white as snow but for the faintest of that warm tinge that seems to underlie all human skin. His hair is different too, not black and curled, but pale brown, falling in gentle waves about his angular face.

Kinam is so mesmerized by that exotic, almost ethereal, coloring that it is only after a moment of staring that he notes the human’s attire. No shoes or cloak, only a dark knee-length tunic, belted at the waist with length of rope. There are old scars on his wrists and ankles, most likely from steel restraints, but the only steel on him now is a thick band encircling his neck. A collar… a slave… the articulate item.

The human is the first to find his voice.

“F-forgive me, Master Kinam.” He promptly drops to his knees on the floor, bowing his head low at the elf’s feet. “I did not realize you had arrived.”

“Oh… It’s alright,” Kinam says, distracted for a moment by the human’s guttural, almost harsh accent that is so different from the Draskans’. “You must be the…”

The human wordlessly holds out a folded piece of paper. Kinam takes it and reads:

 

_My dear Kinam,_

_When I told you the slaves would be could coming along with me on the campaign, I forgot about this one. He can’t go north, so I’ve left him with you. Feel free to put him to whatever work you see fit or to sell him off to another master if his presence upsets you, although I do hope he can be of some use to you._

 

The human is waiting quietly, white hands clenched on his knees, his head bent.

“Alright… so, as I understand it, I you are under my custody until your owner, Turas, returns from his campaign. You are to do as I say.”

The human gives a single, mute nod of assent, ducking his head a little lower. Kinam wishes he wouldn’t do that. He knows—or rather he has read—that bowing the head and averting the eyes is a typical human way to demonstrate submission, but to him it is just unsettling. Elves place a great deal of importance on reading one another’s expressions. If one hides her face or does not look others in the eyes, it is almost as though she isn’t there at all…

“Stand,” Kinam says.

The slave flows to his feet and squares his shoulders, though he keeps his gaze firmly on the patterned stone floor. He is average height for a human male—at least as far as Kinam can tell with his head bent like that—which puts him about half a head shorter than the elf. Kinam takes a step forward and feels the human tense.

“Be still,” he orders mildly.

He considers the human for a moment, wondering what he expects him to do. Hit him? Choke him? Violate him? For once, any one of those things is fair game and there will be no consequences… But there is only one thing Kinam really wants to do at that moment. Something he has wanted to do since he was a wide-eyed child. It’s silly. He knows it’s silly. But he can’t quite help himself.

He reaches out a hand… and touches one of those ears.

 


	2. Parameters

The rounded edge of the human ear is softer than Kinam could have imagined… having run a tentative, almost reverent fingertip down its curve, he pinches the soft piece of cartilage between his fingers, intrigued at the way it bends under the pressure. None of the sources told him that human ears were this soft… or _warm_. Wondering if the rest of the human is the same, Kinam lets his fingertips brush through the human’s vaguely coarse hair to splay across a forehead creased with unease and finds that the skin there is even warmer. Fascinated, entirely caught up in the feel of the creature’s skin, Kinam lets his fingers trail down over its silk-like eyebrows, the graceful bridge of its nose and the tender lids of downturned eyes that flutter faintly as he brushes over them.

The absence of facial hair is uncommon among the human males of Draska, but this strangely colored human is almost elven in the smoothness of his jaw and chin. Kinam takes a moment to trace the lines of the human’s slightly dry, impossibly tender lips before pressing his index finger against them. The slave takes the unvoiced order for what it is and parts his lips, allowing entrance.

Sliding his index finger onto the bottom row of teeth, Kinam braces his thumb against the upper row and gently levers the human’s mouth open wider so that he can see those straight white teeth as he feels his way along their collective edge. Hard and sharp… an omnivore’s teeth, beautifully adapted to cut through tough meat as well as tenderer fruits and plants. The teeth seem so powerful and dangerous after the softness of the ears. As Kinam pushes his fingers deeper into the little mouth to feel along the creature’s broader, flatter molars, he wonders just how dangerous they really are. If they were to snap shut right now, could they break through his skin? Could they break bone? For whatever reason, it makes Kinam want to drive his fingers in a little deeper…

That’s when the slave chokes, coughing out a breath he must have been holding in for some time. And Kinam pauses in amazement. It’s _hot_. Like the wave of air that rushes up out of an oven when it’s opened. There is heat inside the human. _Fire_. Kinam withdraws his fingers, but lets his hand linger over those parted lips, loosely holding the slave’s face between his fingers, feeling those breaths wash over his palm. They are coming incrementally faster with each passing moment, though Kinam can feel the tremulous human trying his best to keep them steady. Kinam will have to figure out exactly what, deep inside the body, produces that glorious heat. But there will be time for that later…

He lets his hand slide slowly from the slave’s fiery mouth, down over his jaw to touch the collar—unpleasantly cool after the warmth of the human’s skin—over the light inscription in the metal:

 

_Property of Turas_

_If found, return to Canal 789 Estate_

 

His fingers briefly clink over the ring at the front of the steel band—presumably there to allow the attachment of a chain or lead—and he slides his hand up under the collar as far as the relatively tight-fitting metal will allow. The skin here is coarse and almost red in places from what Kinam can only assume is chaffing. He can feel the slave’s surprisingly sturdy neck muscles and less sturdy windpipe through that scarred skin, can feel him breathing as he presses his fingers into that warmth. The breaths are even, but forcibly so. The slave has started shaking and with his thumb pressed into the human’s neck, Kinam can feel his heart beating faster than it should.

“You’re afraid,” Kinam says.

An odd something like a smile twitches at the corner of the slave’s mouth. “Only a little, Master.”

It’s not true… that much Kinam knows from how fast the slave’s heart is beating, but he can’t quite tell if it’s meant to be a reassurance, a challenge, or one of those ginger attempts at humor he’s heard humans make in desperate situations.

Kinam takes his hand from the human’s neck but notes that his heart rate does not slow. Part of Kinam wants to tell the slave that he won’t hurt him, if it will just get him to unclench and stop shaking, but he isn’t entirely sure yet _what_ he will do with the human.

“Do you have a name?” he asks instead.

“My name is whatever my master chooses to call me,” the slave says in a small voice.

“What did Turas call you?”

“Slave, mostly… Shent when he wanted to be more specific.”

 _Shent_ … the Draskan word for ‘Snow.’ Fitting, considering the slave’s near-translucently pale skin. But the boy is clearly not Draskan.

“That is not your original name.”

“No, Master.”

“What was your birth name?”

“My birth name is Juna if it pleases you, Master.”

“Juna,” Kinam repeated. “A northern name. You come from the north?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Then you’re a long way from home.”

“The Draskan troops were a long way from home when they attacked my people,” he replies and Kinam does not miss the bitter edge in his voice. The slave seems to realize what he’s revealed because his eyes widen slightly and Kinam senses his heart rate jumping in panic. “Please—forgive me, Master. I—”

“So, you are a war captive?” Kinam says, choosing to ignore the tinge of insubordination.

“Yes, Master,” the slave says nervously.

Ahh… so that’s why Turas didn’t bring this particular slave on his campaign. The Draskan general will be leading his troops right into Juna’s homeland. It would be far too easy for him to escape on the road in his own native country. Here, though, in the heart of a Draskan city of over a million, hundreds of miles from any foreign settlement, he is very much trapped.

“So…” Kinam sighs. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“Whatever you wish, Master.”

Unhelpful. Though Kinam gets the feeling that is the answer the slave has been trained to give.

“Well, what is it you usually do?” Kinam asks, deciding that might be a better place to start.

“I have training in multiple areas of service, Master. I can serve as a bodyguard or a housekeeper. I am also strong enough to be put to any kind of unskilled labor.”

Good. That was all good. “Is there anything else?”

“I…” The human’s arms move for a moment as though itching to wrap protectively around his own body, but he haltingly returns them to his sides. “I can provide… company, if that is your wish, Master.”

Kinam isn’t sure what the human means by ‘company,’ but he notices that the utterance of the word coincides with a shrinking of his voice and posture.

“Is… is there any way I can serve you at present, Master?” He asks tentatively.

“At present, I am tired,” Kinam says honestly.

“I can draw a bath for you,” the slave offers. “And prepare your chamber.”

“That’s alright,” Kinam starts to say out of habit more than anything else. Because no civilized elf accepts gifts or services without the intention to repay them somehow in equal proportion and he has not known this human long enough to have established that kind of relationship with him… but he realizes a moment later that this is foolish. Elven relationship standards do not apply here. What is happening in this moment is something wholly different… and in this moment, all he really wants is a way to get himself and Juna out of this hallway of awkward silence and downcast eyes. “I… actually, a bath would be good,” he says, realizing he has no idea how a master is supposed to phrase an order. “Do that.”

“Gladly, Master.” He starts to leave.

“You’re not glad.”

“Sorry?” The slave turns back.

“You’re not glad.”

“No… m-maybe not…” he looks at the elf with a mixture of confusion and apprehension. “But… I am going to go prepare your bath anyway, if that’s alright, Master.”

Kinam nods his permission and the slave hurries off.

 

The bath is an impressive feat of architecture for a culture that has only recently developed rudimentary plumbing, a broad stone basin half as deep as a human was tall, set into the chamber floor and lined with intricate Draskan carvings of boats, and horses, and a myriad of other figures. Steps down into a depression along the side of the bath allow the slave to stoke a fire in an oven beneath the basin’s floor, heating the water as the smoke is channeled outside through a stone chimney running up one side of the chamber.

“I apologize, Master,” the human says, straightening up from the fire with smudges of soot on his knees. “I didn’t bring in enough water this morning to fill the entire bath.” He nods at the partially-filled stone basin as Kinam notes what must be at least fifty empty buckets stacked in a corner. “I can fetch more, but it will take time to heat.”

Kinam looks at the slave and then back at the buckets, the smallest of which must weigh in at half the weight of a grown human when filled with water. His muscles practically ache just thinking about carrying one in each hand and humans are not as sturdily built as elves. Besides, the sun has long since set and he knows that humans have difficulty making their way without its light.

“It’s dark outside,” he says in answer.

“It’s no trouble, Master,” the human says without skipping a beat. “I know my way to the well. I will be quick.”

“No. No, that’s alright,” Kinam assures him, removing his tunic. “This is more than enough water.” It was certainly more water than he was used to in an indoor bath.

“Sh-should I—” the slave begins haltingly as Kinam slides out of his pants and sets them aside. “Should I go or… would you like me to stay and help you bathe?”

Kinam looks up in surprise at the question. Was it common for humans to help one another bathe? What precisely would one need help with? he wonders, staring around at the variety of sponges and soaps and a moment later realizes that he has no idea what any of them are for. None of them seem to be labeled… perhaps he _could_ use a little help.

“Do you often help your master bathe?” Kinam asks, removing the last of his undergarments.

In Kinam’s experience, humans have been bizarrely shy about nudity—others’ and their own—and this human, it seems, is no exception. He immediately looks away from Kinam and his heart rate picks up noticeably.

“Yes, Sir,” the human answers.

Well… if this is a common human practice, maybe he should make himself familiar with it… though he has to wonder why a species so shy of their own bodies would uphold such a practice…

“Very well, then,” he decides, “I will have you stay.”

The slave nods, still looking resolutely at the floor, as Kinam steps into the water. It is hot, almost painfully so, but after a few moments, it has settled to a pleasant tingle. Thankfully for Kinam, the human moves without instruction, his routine seemingly the product of time-ingrained habit as he gathers, up Kinam’s clothes and sets them in a neat pile away from the water. That done, he loosens the chord at his waist and then reties it so that his own tunic is hitched up to his mid-thigh, rather than falling to the knee. Reaching back, he unfastens the tie at the back of his tunic so that the neck opens up and he slides it down off his shoulders, baring his impossibly pale torso.

Kinam finds himself staring in amazement as the slave methodically gathers up the extra fabric and tucks it into the chord at his waist so that it will be out of the way. The human is made all of bone and muscle. Even strongest humans Kinam has seen—warriors like Turas—have had some soft lines about them, some fleshy places, but not this one. Maybe it’s the result of hard labor, or malnutrition, or some combination of both, but this slender milky-colored human is all hard lines, from his sharply defined clavicle to the rippling ligaments in his arms, to the tight plane of his stomach.

Unaware of Kinam’s gaze on him, the slave checks his knees and the bottoms of his feet—presumably to make sure there is no soot left on them—and then lowers himself into the bath with Kinam. The water that comes just above Kinam’s knees laps at the human’s mid-thigh, just short of wetting the hem of his tunic. The enchanting heat of his body is lost in the hotter steam rising from the bathwater, though Kinam can still his hear his heartbeat, pumping along just a little faster than normal.

The slave works quickly but thoroughly, using a wooden dipper in one hand to pour water from the bath over Kinam’s neck, his shoulders, down his back and each of his arms, while he uses a soft sponge in his other hand to scrub circles over the wetted skin, sloughing off the layers of dust the elf had accumulated during his days of travel. The slave is silent through it all, his head bowed, the movements of his hands deliberate and vigorous—almost aggressively so—as though intent on doing a good job and getting it done with as quickly as possible. For Kinam’s part, he would be content to watch those muscles ripple in the hot steam for an eternity.

Once he has rinsed the worst of Draska’s dust from the elf’s skin, the human sets aside the sponge and dipper, and turns around to take up a fresh sponge and one of the bottles of soap. It is in that moment that Kinam has to stifle as gasp. The slave’s back is a mess of scars… dozens –possibly hundreds—of thin lines laid one over the other as though the skin has been torn open again and again over a long period of time. Having applied some soap to the new sponge, the human turns back to continue his work.

Kinam stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Master?” The slave looks up at him uncertainly.

Kinam’s only response is to push gently to turn the human around. The human resists, his muscles tensing in what seems to be reflex. Kinam tightens his grip and pushes a little harder. At the added pressure, the slave complies, his breath hitching just slightly as he is turned around, exposing his marred back to the elf’s gaze. He puts his pale hands on the basin’s edge and grips it as though to steady himself as Kinam’s fingers tenderly touch his back, tracing one of the most pronounced scars from the nape of his neck, down across one shoulder blade, down onto the small of his back, almost reaching the opposite hip.

The basic medical education Kinam acquired in school is, of course, intended for elves and their biology, but one doesn’t need extensive knowledge of the human body to see that these wounds haven’t been treated properly. Some have healed over well enough, leaving behind only faint discoloration. Others, possibly due to their initial severity or infection later on, have left his skin marred, permanently torn in an echo of the original laceration. Some of the marks, he can see now are recent, still tinged with red and laced with the scabs human injuries seem to accumulate as they heal. Wondering if the scabs are as rough as they look, Kinam tentatively presses a fingertip against one of the redder ones. It must be painful because the human flinches under the touch, the muscles in his back bunching for a moment before he is able to hold them still again.

Splaying one hand out on the human’s back—gently this time, to make sure he doesn’t hurt him—Kinam feels the human’s shallow breathing and the boom of that increasingly agitated heartbeat. The drawn muscles between those shoulder blades are every bit as solid as Kinam could have imagined… and he wonders if the rest of the human is so uncannily sturdy. The hand on the slave’s back slides down and around the side of the human’s abdomen while the other dips under the hem of his tunic to grasp his thigh.

For whatever reason, the new contact causes the human to suck in a frightened breath, his hands balling into the fists on the edge of the basin. Kinam stills for a moment, puzzled by the strange reaction. His back is clearly the most tender and abused part of him—unless there is some leg injury Kinam cannot see or feel—so why is he seemingly so much more afraid of this second touch. Is this kind of touch a threat of something worse in human culture? Curious, Kinam experimentally slides his hand up a little higher under the tunic, surprised to find that the slave is not wearing any kind of undergarments.

This time the human doesn’t tense at the movement. Oddly enough, he _slumps_ as though in resignation, dropping his head low, and letting out his breath in a small, strained something like a sob. The sound shoots straight to Kinam’s core. It is so broken, so visceral that all he can do is stand there, unsure of what to do next. The curious part of him wants to push the human further just to see what will happen…

Evidently, however, the elf’s stillness is all the push the human can take.

“ _Please!_ ” he bursts out quite suddenly, his guttural voice cracking with emotion as he whirls around in the water to face the elf. “If you’re going to do it, _please_ , just get it over with!”

Kinam pauses, wondering what exactly the human is expecting him to do.

The slave’s fear is obvious from the tremor in his body and the wild thump of his heart, but for whatever reason, he pushes himself forward off the basin’s edge and glares the elf full in the face. “ _Go on_!” He growls, his breath hot between them and his gray eyes burning with barely repressed fury unlike anything Kinam has ever seen. “Do it!”

 _Do what?_ Kinam wants to ask, but in that moment, he is so transfixed by the ferocity in the human’s eyes that he can’t form words.

“I don’t know what does it for elves, Master, but I can see you wanting it.” The human presses, a bit of the anger in his voice replaced by desperation. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll cooperate, I’ll take it. Just… just get to it… _please_.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Kinam wonders aloud.

“I am _not_ afraid, Master,” the human snarls with such conviction that if not for his treacherous heartbeat Kinam would believe him. “I’m—”

“You are subject to whatever your master chooses to do to you… and you don’t know yet what I’ll do. I…” _I would be afraid too,_ Kinam realizes, after a moment. He has to imagine that any thinking creature with a sense of self-preservation would be in this strange place where humans were seemingly compelled to beat on, violate, and kill their fellows with such gusto.

With the human’s storm cloud gaze on him, burning with emotion, Kinam takes a moment to find his voice again…

“I apologize. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you either.”

There is a moment of awkward silence between them.

“Go.” Kinam places a hand on the slave’s warm chest and pushes him gently away. “Prepare the bedroom. The keys to the luggage are in the pocket of my tunic.”

He just needs a moment alone to think.

As the slave leaves the chamber, Kinam sinks down into the water and wraps his arms around his legs, considering his options…

Kinam has trained himself to always observe and research first and act only if necessary. But he realizes this is one case in which he is going to have to assert himself. This foreign slave is an exception to the rule; he is already being forced to operate outside his natural habitat and so there is no great benefit or meaning to a hands-off study of his behavior—even if such a thing were possible… maybe to witness the practices Draskans force on their captives… but that would be something best studied by observing other Draskans with their slaves as Kinam has already upset that dynamic here by not being a Draskan—or even a human—at all.

There is an obvious rebellious streak in the slave… Juna, his name is Juna. It is clear that he resents his status in relation to Kinam, but is too fearful to fight against it at the moment. Kinam doesn’t particularly like the idea of living with someone who is deeply afraid of him, although he isn’t quite sure how to put the human at ease, seeing how everything he has done so far has seemed to terrify him… On the other hand, he also senses intelligence when he looks into those gray eyes, something he has come to learn he should never underestimate in humans, no matter how primitive the books say they are.

If Kinam defines their relationship now, gives it firm parameters, it will probably be best for both of them. He doesn’t have to do it like a Draskan master; he has no desire to do so. He just has to do it… and perhaps if he does it right, he can make that intelligence—even that _rebelliousness_ —work to his advantage. Yes… the presence of this slave he didn’t want might work out extremely well. In fact, Turas might have just handed him an invaluable resource.

When Kinam wraps himself in the robe provided for him and makes his way into the master bedroom, he finds Juna on his knees beside the bed, his head bent. The human's breath hitches faintly at the sound of the elf’s footfalls, but does not lift his head or move a muscle. Even to an elf—often considered steadier and more graceful than their clumsy human counterparts— there is something almost unnatural about how still this human holds himself. Almost as though afraid that the tiniest movement will trigger some terrible consequence.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” Kinam says, doing his best to keep his voice soft and unthreatening. “We have some things to discuss.” As he draws closer, he notices something on the floor before the slave. A braided coil of leather, laid out neatly on the floor. “What is this for?” He asks mildly, stooping to pick it up.

“I raised my voice to you, Master,” the slave says evenly, “and looked you in the eyes. I assumed you would want to punish me, as I deserve.”

Kinam straightens up, holding a wrapped handle as the rest of the leather device uncoils into a thick lash. The end of the whip hits the floor with a hard smack that draws an almost imperceptible flinch from the kneeling slave. Kinam has seen humans use similar leather lashes to beat horses and cattle into moving faster. He didn’t realize they were used on humans…

“Your previous owners would beat you with _this…_? For raising your voice to them?”

“Yes, Sir.”

 _All-Spirit_ … that explained the brutalized mess that was the slave’s back. The idea that this human had carefully unpacked his things and prepared his room, all while believing the elf was going to emerge from the bath and inflict physical torture on him… it makes Kinam vaguely sick.

“Please, be at ease.” Kinam says, winding the whip back up and laying it aside on one of the bedroom tables. “I am not going to beat you.”

For whatever reason, his words don’t put the human at ease at all. If anything he grows impossibly tenser. Perhaps he assumes that his new master must have some other, worse punishment in mind for his transgression. Kinam would be hard-pressed to devise something as cruel as flaying the flesh from his back… though, perhaps, he thinks, looking down at the whitening knuckles of the human’s clenched fists, this uncertainty is the worst punishment he can inflict.

“I do not intend to punish you,” Kinam clarifies as gently as he can.

“Th-then,” the slave gulps and raises his head a fraction, lifting himself up on his knees. “Please…” He lifts his hands haltingly as though just forcing them to move is an effort. “Master… allow me to show you my gratitude.”

And Kinam is entirely unprepared for what happens next. The human’s hands move to his hips, surprisingly calloused fingers gliding along his skin as they part the thin robe to expose his sex. For the moment, Kinam is so stunned, so overtaken by the feeling of those warm, faintly trembling fingers on his hips, that all he can do is stand there as the human levers himself up and brings his face in close, hot, unbearably anxious breath brushing over parts of Kinam that have never felt this kind of heat before… the slave squeezes his eyes shut as though steeling himself… those tender lips part…

In the same split second Kinam realizes that this frightened, _angry_ , human is going to take his member into that _mouth_ —with those _teeth_ —his sex inexplicably jumps in arousal. The double shock is enough to shake him from his stupor.

“ _Stop!_ ” He seizes the human by the wrists, simultaneously snatching those hands from his hips and pushing the creature a safe distance away. The human jerks initially as though his first impulse is to yank his wrists out of Kinam’s grasp, but then forces himself to be still, allowing the elf to hold him where he is.

“What are you _doing_?” Kinam demands as the slave’s heart—and his own—thunder in his ears.

“I-I’m sorry, Master!” The human stutters, clearly every bit as shaken as Kinam is. “I thought—I assumed you wanted me to… Please, forgive me for my presumption.” He bows his head, hiding his eyes, and Kinam loses control.

“ _Look at me!_ ” He demands, giving the human a sharp shake. He is so confused by everything that’s happened, he is having so much trouble reading this strange pale human; the least the creature can do is _look him in the eyes_.

The human looks up at him, gray eyes swimming with confusion and barely repressed terror that has his body shaking in Kinam’s grip. The elf only has to look into those frightened eyes for a moment and he calms down, ashamed at having lost control of himself. It’s been a long day.

“I apologize,” he lets out his breath. “I should not have shouted.”

He releases Juna and the human slumps back onto his knees, staring in alarm at his wrists as bruises start to emerge on top of the pale scars that are already there, first red and then gradually turning an almost beautiful shade of purple as they swell up.

“I’ve hurt you,” Kinam says, feeling mortified with himself. “I apologize.”

Kinam desperately wants to be looking into the human’s face when he speaks to him, but he doesn’t want to demand that the slave stand after giving him such a shock. So, instead he lowers himself onto his knees, wrapping the robe around his exposed body as he leans down to the slave’s eye-level.

“Look at me,” he commands, softly this time.

The human obediently lifts his gaze from his bruised wrists to meet Kinam’s.

“I see that you are confused,” Kinam says. “I want everything to be clear between us.”

Juna offers a small nod, though he still looks rather stunned that the elf has gotten down on the floor with him.

“First…” Kinam thinks for a moment about where it would be best to begin. With his students back in Takyat, he always tries to start out with what they already know. The same should work here. “First, I want to know what you were told about me, before my arrival.”

“Aside from your name… not much, Master,” Juna replies in that quiet, husky voice of his. “I was told that you were Master Turas’ good friend from far away, in elf country, and that I was to serve you as I would him.”

“Good.” Kinam nods. “Good, that is all true. But, I think I should give you a more complete explanation so that you understand exactly who I am and, more importantly, why I am here. I am an elf from the Takyat Highlands. Do you know where that is?”

“No, Master.” Juna shakes his head.

“It’s far east of here, across the ocean, in a place very different—geographically and culturally—from Draska and the rest of human country. Back in Takyat, I am a scholar and a teacher, specializing in the study of your species, humans. Unfortunately, my peoples’ books contain very little information on the subject since few e] lves have ever ventured deep into human country. I am here, partially as a favor to Turas, to look after his property while he is away. But I am also here to observe, record, and analyze everything I can of human behavior here in Draska to expand upon my peoples’ understanding of humans as a species.” He pauses, realizing that he should check in with Juna as he always does his less experienced students. “Is all of this making sense to you?”

“Yes…” Juna says slowly, though it is plain that he is still trying to process everything Kinam has told him. “I think so, Master.”

Kinam can’t blame him for being confused. There is no such thing as a proper researcher or scientist among any human population he knows of. And humans are notoriously superstitious in their thinking, not given to the organized rational thought that pervades elven cultures like that of Takyat.

“Now.” Kinam takes Juna’s chin in his hand just to make sure the human doesn’t look away. “I am going to admit something to you; I understand very little about the cultural expectations regarding the relationship between master and slave as we have no equivalent in my home culture. All I understand is that I, as your master, am permitted by Draskan law and social standards to give you any order or subject you to any treatment I choose, and that you, as my slave, are legally and socially bound to obey those orders and accept that treatment. Am I correct?”

“Yes, Master,” Juna replies very quietly.

“Good.” Kinam gives a satisfied nod. “Because, as far as my research goes, I will most likely have little use for a slave who behaves according to Draskan standards of service. What I will have use for is a cooperating human research subject.”

Juna swallows and nods, though his eyes are still reflecting a world of confusion. Kinam can feel that he wants to ask a question, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“You don’t talk as much as the other humans I’ve met in this city. Why is that?”

“Most masters—Master Turas included—prefer their slaves to be silent except when asked a direct question or given explicit permission to speak.”

“Well, you needn’t adhere to that rule with me. In fact, you should get used to using your voice. I will be asking you many direct questions, but I also wish the two of us to be able to converse freely and honestly on all subjects. If I require quiet, I will tell you, but otherwise, I wish you—in fact, I will most likely require you—to speak your thoughts with me.”

Juna doesn’t seem to know what to make of that. “If… if that is what you wish, Master. Only, I… I think I should warn you... I have been told my thoughts are insubordinate and irreverent.”

“I don’t mind that. I don’t care how inappropriate your words are, by Draskan standards; all I want is the truth.”

Juna eyes him skeptically, almost challengingly. “You won’t punish me for giving you a truth that displeases you?”

“I am a researcher. It’s not for me to change the facts to please me, only to observe and record them as they are. Since our discourse will undoubtedly figure into my research, I will, of course, expect complete honesty.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“If you lie to me, you _will_ be punished. Is that clear?”

“Of course, Master.” Juna bows his head.

“And you will look me in the eyes when you speak to me,” Kinam adds sharply.

“Yes, Master.”

“Let’s try this research method out then, shall we?” Kinam says. “First question: why do you serve me?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You do,” Kinam says. “You aren’t physically restrained. The doors aren’t locked. And, as a foreigner, you are not morally bound to a Draskan code of conduct. You could turn your back on me and walk away from this estate right now.”

“Only if I wanted to die,” Juna says dryly. “… or be beaten until I wished for death.”

“So, you stay and you serve for fear of the consequences of not doing so?”

Juna is silent for a moment, glaring sullenly at the floor in front of his knees, but he seems to realize he has made the answer quite clear already. “Yes, sir.” For some reason, the slave seems to find the admission distasteful. Kinam will have to pursue that, but later. For the moment, he wants to focus on the issue at hand.

“You force yourself to adhere to a certain set of behaviors with me… a set of behaviors that I can tell you don’t enjoy. There must be some behavior that you expect from me in return or you would not put in the effort.”

“It’s not a slave’s place to expect anything from his master,” Juna says. “I live to serve you.”

“You’ve already broken one of the rules. You’re not telling me the truth.”

“Am I not, Master?

“The men who hold you here were once your enemies and I am a stranger. Whatever treatment you afford them or me, it was learned, and you have some reason for upholding it. It isn’t part of your upbringing and it isn't for your own gratification, so it must be for something you expect of me.”

“I told you, it’s not a slave’s place to expect anything from his master,” Juna says. “… he can only serve well and hope.”

“What treatment do you hope from me, in exchange for your adherence to standard slave behavior?”

“I would hope… that you won’t work me to death or beat me too frequently,” the human says in a tentative voice and he is telling the truth.

In spite of himself, Kinam feels a tug at his heart. “Is that all?”

The slave shrugs with a small, broken smile that isn’t really a smile at all. “It’s foolish to hope for anything more than that.”

“Is it?” Kinam says. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you are my master. You’ve been given power over me… and you will use me however you like… because you can. It’s what everyone does.”

“Your previous owners were Draskan humans. I am a foreigner and an elf.”

“It’s what everyone does.”

 


End file.
